


YOI Sickfic Collection

by casper_the_friendly



Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Sickfic Compilation [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Asexual Phichit Chulanont, Emetophilia, Emetophobia, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overworking, Sick Character, Sick Victor, Sick Yuri, Sick Yuuri, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Vomiting, Young Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:51:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casper_the_friendly/pseuds/casper_the_friendly
Summary: The title pretty much says it all... I've written a bunch of sickfics (most of which involve vomit) on my tumblr, and I thought I'd put them up on here for anyone who's interested. It may take me a while to upload everything I have so far, so if you'd like, feel free to check out my tumblr account: http://casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction.tumblr.com/





	1. Victor Sympathy Puking because Yuri has a Stomach Flu he Caught from Yuuri

**Author's Note:**

> if you don't want to read about vomit, do not read!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't want to read about vomit, do not read!

Viktor could tell something was wrong the moment Yurio walked into the rink.

“Yurio. Go home.”

The teen’s cheeks were flushed with what Viktor could only assume was fever and his skin was even more pale than normal. Despite Yurio’s scowl, was like deja vu, and he immediately knew why.

“You’re sick.”

The scowl deepened, and Yurio attempted to refute the claim but his sluggish voice hardly helped to turn matters to his favor.

“I’m not.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed. He supposed this one would not be as easy to deal with as his boyfriend had been.

“You are,” Viktor attempted to persuade the teen. “I know because Yuuri is sick in bed at home with the same thing.”

For a moment, Yurio’s eyes widened, but then his face became tight again. “I’m not sick. You’re projecting because the little piggy wanted a day off. Now let me through. I need to practice.”

Just then Viktor’s phone rang, the song Yuri on Ice letting him know it was his boyfriend. He picked up without a second thought, and in that instant, Yurio cruised past him. Viktor shook his head and sighed.

“Yuuri!” Viktor tried to sound cheerful for his boyfriend’s sake. “How are you?”

“I’m… not doing very well,” Yuuri said miserably, and Viktor’s heart stuttered as the sick man sniffles. He wondered if Yuuri had been crying.

“Are you alright? Should I come home? What’s wrong? Can I bring you medicine?”

Yuuri laughed weakly. Out of the corner of his eye Viktor saw Yurio stumble and nearly dropped his phone, but the teen got back up a moment later.

“…Viktor? You still there?” Yuuri had said something and Viktor had missed it.

“Oh, yeah, I’m listening, sorry.”

“Are you alright?” Yuuri asked, now sounding much more like himself than he had at first. “Oh no, you haven’t caught this bug have you?”

“No, no!” Viktor waved a hand in the air even though he knew Yuuri couldn’t see it. “It’s not that! It’s just,” Viktor winced as Yurio fell again, panting heavily. He lowered his voice. “Yurio seems to be sick.”

“Oh,” Yuuri murmured sympathetically. “Poor kid. Why are you letting him practice? You ought to send him back here and we’ll take care of him!”

“I know, I know, I tried! He just refuses to stop…” Viktor trailed off and was lost in his thoughts until Yuuri hiccuped on the other end of the line. “Yuuri! Is your stomach bothering you?” Last he’d heard, Yuuri had just had a fever.

“Ugh. Yeah. That’s why I’d called. But you stay with Yurio. I know how difficult he can be, so do what you can to get him to take a break, but mostly just keep an eye on him.”

“Yuuri… Are you sure? I can just leave and I’m sure Yurio will-“

“Really, Vik?” Yuuri sounded more than a little doubtful, and rightly so, Viktor thought as he watched Yurio stagger into the start of another go at his routine. He sighed.

“You’re right. It’s best if I stay here until I can get him to come home with me, huh?”

“Exactly. Good luck!”

“Thanks, you too. Love you!”

“Love you, too,” Yuuri said in a tender voice, and then hung up.

Viktor sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He needed to get back to Yuuri. The rest of the Katsuki family was actually out, for once, doing who-knows-what, so Yuuri was all alone. It would be hard to focus on Yurio…

Then Viktor heard gagging noises and his attention immediately snapped into focus on the teen. Maybe not as hard as he’d thought. He didn’t have skates on, but he was so accustomed to the ice that able to slide over to the boy in his regular shoes without too much trouble. He immediately grabbed him around the waist and guided him off of the rink, even as Yurio continued to gag.

“You’re alright, Yurio, just try to breathe,” Viktor said, guiding him into the bathroom

For a moment, it seemed to help, as the boy took in large gulps of air and blinked in the momentary relief it brought him. Then the nausea became too much again, and he doubled over dry retching. Fortunately, nothing came up until they reached the toilet.

Yurio immediately collapsed in front of it, his entire body shaking violently. Viktor couldn’t tell if he was sobbing, or coughing, or gagging, but it seemed to be some sort of mix of the three. The tears streaking his cheeks seemed to be too plentiful to be just a result of the force of his heaves.

Yurio stilled for a moment, then let out a soft whine. Viktor pulled his hair back just in time for the sick boy to lurch forward and burp up a thick and long stream of vomit. The smell immediately made Viktor’s stomach turn, but he continued to rub Yurio’s back as more and more of the putrid, half-digested food splashed sickeningly into the toilet.

“Vik-“ Yurio started to sob Viktor’s name in what sounded to be a plea for help, but was cut of by another wave of puke. He hung his head in the toilet and jerked sporadically as he threw up uncontrollably. He coughed, and Viktor hoped with everything he had that that would be the end of it, but Yurio didn’t even have time to catch his breathe before more sick was shooting out of his mouth and nose again.

Meanwhile, Viktor was feeling horribly sick himself. They’d been in the tiny bathroom for nearly ten minutes, and the entire ordeal was really getting to him. The only reason he was still there was the pitiful whimpers of pain and fear that Yurio would make every couple of minutes.

Yurio sputtered and was finally able to catch his breathe, and Viktor, steeling himself, wiped the boy’s face off. It was clear that Yurio was completely exhausted. Viktor helped him stand by supporting him under his arms.

“Ready to go?” Viktor asked, somewhat desperate by this point to leave. He was already on his way out, but then Yurio stopped him in his tracks. The boy fell back to his knees and promptly proceeded to vomit profusely yet again. The sick splashed into the now nearly-full toilet and some of it splashed right back out, onto the floor and Yurio himself, and that was the last straw.

Viktor put the back of his hand to his mouth and ran out of the stall. As soon as he got to the sink he was violently losing his breakfast, as well as dinner from the night before. He shuddered at the taste and texture of the sick and clutched his aching abdomen.

By the time he cleaned himself and Yurio up, Viktor felt dead on his feet. It had been a long day. As he and Yurio stumbled into the Katsuki household, they were immediately assaulted by retching sounds, followed by a splash. Both paled, and Yurio ran to the bathroom. Viktor, who knew his stomach to be completely empty, simply stood in the doorway, shaking from exhaustion and stress, trying to come to terms with the fact that it didn’t seem like his day was going to improve much any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed! and i'm sorry if you didn't, i know it isn't everyone's cup of tea.  
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below if you have a bit of time to type them up!
> 
> if you like my writing, feel free to make requests on my tumblr accounts!  
> my fanfiction sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction](http://casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction.tumblr.com)  
> i also have an oc sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-ocs](http://casper-and-their-sick-ocs.tumblr.com)  
> my main is [@smolsickficwriter](http://smolsickficwriter.tumblr.com)  
> and i have a collab hq!! sickfic account [@vollyball-illnesses](http://vollyball-illnesses.tumblr.com)


	2. Yuuri Overworks himself to the Point of being Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't want to read about vomit, do not read!

“Yuuri,” Victor’s voice carries across the ice to the younger man. Yuuri stumbles to a halt, cutting off an failed attempt at his free program and whirling to face his coach, blinking blearily. The older man yawns before continuing. “You need to take a break. It’s 4:18 am. Have you slept at all in the past 24 hours?”

Judging by Yuuri’s deer-in-the-headlights look and the lack of any verbal response, the answer to that is no.

“I can’t,” Yuuri pants, face flushed and hair as messy as Victor has ever seen it. He attempts the foot sequence that is usually his strong point but looses form almost immediately. It makes Victor’s heart hurt.

“Can’t sleep? Or take a break?” Victor raises an eyebrow, recalling all the times Yuuri’s had trouble getting shut eye as a result of his anxiety. He almost always ended up at the rink. Still, it had never been this bad before.

Yuuri stares at him blankly for a few long seconds before responding. “Yeah.”

Victor sighs and gestures for Yuuri to come to him. “Yuuri. Come here. Come off the ice and rest. You’ll get hurt if you aren’t careful.”

“But this needs to be perfect for the competition and-“

“There’s no way you’ll get it perfect when you’re this worn down. Come on.”

For a moment it seems like the younger skater might listen. Then his eyes glaze over, and his body starts to shake.

“I- I can’t. I’ll let you down. I just-“ Yuuri’s voice wavers and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I just need to practice, okay?”

And then he’s starting his free program again and there’s nothing Victor can do to stop him, short of tackling him to the ground.

It started out unbelievably well. Yuuri was smooth as ever, and even completed the first three jumps without faltering. Victor could hardly believe his eyes. He hoped, speechlessly but with everything that he had, that this would be a miraculously perfect run-through so that Yuuri would allow himself to relax a bit and take a break.

Then Yuuri was no longer skating. One minute he’d been gliding seemingly effortlessly across the ice, and the next he was collapsed on top of it. Victor rushes onto the ice and falls to his knees next to Yuuri.

“Yuuri!” Heat is radiating from the sick skater as if he were some sort of personal heater. He’s sprawled out awkwardly, shivering viciously, and sucking in desperate gasps of air. To Victor’s relief, his eyes slowly blink open. “Yuuri, hey,” he says gently, trying to calm the fear that’s all too evident in Yuuri’s eyes.

“Victor, I-“ Yuuri hiccups. “Gonna throw up.”

“Shit,” Victor curses. There’s just enough time to help Yuuri into a seated position and then Yuuri is lurching forward with a heave. Vomit sprays from his lips, splashing onto the ice.

“It’s alright, Yuuri, just let it out,” Victor urges as Yuuri’s attempt to draw in a breath ends up being cut off by more sick. Yuuri coughs and sputters, then burps and is spewing again. He whimpers.

“I want - hic! - to go hUURGH,” he’s cut off by another thick stream of barf and his uneven breaths become sobs.

“Shhh,” Victor hugs Yuuri to his chest. “Don’t worry, we’re going home.”

After taking Yuuri off of the ice and situating him on a bench with an old, unused bucket in his lap, Victor calls a cab to bring them back to the house. By the time the cab gets there, the bucket’s already about a quarter of the way full. When Yuuri gets in the car with it, the cab driver shoots Victor a wary look.

“Sorry,” Victor says, “I’ll tip double, I promise.”

Begrudgingly, the cabbie nods. Victor pretends not to notice the way the driver gags whenever Yuuri throws up, but ends up tipping three times as much as he normally would.

Once their home, Victor quickly tucks Yuuri into bed, but the sick man’s stomach is relentless, so he just ends up sitting there, arms wrapped around the bucket, waiting to be sick again and occasionally retching unproductively. When Victor puts a hand to Yuuri’s head, it’s still hot, so he wets a towel and places it on Yuuri’s neck. Seeing Yuuri so miserable makes Victor feel like crying. He wants to help, but instead he says the one thing he didn’t want to say.

“I told you you were overdoing it.”

Yuuri ducks his head in the bucket and burps wetly before his entire body is wracked by another heave and he’s puking up another thick stream of sick. He coughs weakly and shudders at the taste as a thinner stream spills past his lips. When he’s able to, he leans back, defeated.

“You were right,” he admits. Then he hiccups and his back arches as his stomach muscles contract, expelling more bile into the bucket.

Victor sighs and rubs Yuuri’s back. “I’m sorry. I wish I wasn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed! and i'm sorry if you didn't, i know it isn't everyone's cup of tea.  
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below if you have a bit of time to type them up!
> 
> if you like my writing, feel free to make requests on my tumblr accounts!  
> my fanfiction sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction](http://casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction.tumblr.com)  
> i also have an oc sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-ocs](http://casper-and-their-sick-ocs.tumblr.com)  
> my main is [@smolsickficwriter](http://smolsickficwriter.tumblr.com)  
> and i have a collab hq!! sickfic account [@vollyball-illnesses](http://vollyball-illnesses.tumblr.com)


	3. Where Yuri Actually Pukes in Episode 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where yuri actually pukes in episode 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't want to read about vomit, do not read!

He did it. He landed all of his jumps. He only made the smallest of mistakes. It had been a near-perfect performance.

And yet, something felt wrong, as he panted towards the ground, unable to catch his breath. He’d used everything, everything he had, and he was proud of that, but something…

Then he realized. It was his stomach. All the twists and turns coupled with a failure to provide his body with a proper amount of oxygen had really done a number. He coughed and fell to his knees, placing his hands on the cold ice in front of him as he breathed heavily and tried to repress the urge to gag.

He needed to get off the ice.

Yurio moved to stand, but suddenly a crushing wave of nausea brought him again to his knees. He heard accidentally-harmonized shouts of concern from Yakov and Lilia, and then the scrape of blades on ice. He wondered briefly who it was, and had just enough time to hope with every fiber of his being that it wasn’t JJ before he was spewing.

He was always careful to avoid eating too much before a competition, so there wasn’t much in his stomach to get rid of, but a mouthful of bile splattered onto the ice. Yurio realized belatedly that whoever had skated onto the ice was holding his hair back for him.

Not JJ, then.

Yurio panted and blinked bright spots from his eyes. Then he was thrown into another violent coughing fit which brought up a more substantial splash of sick. His stomach ached from exertion and he shuddered in disgust. He dry heaved a few times before he was able to sit back on his heels. He blinked, trying to figure out who was helping him out, but the world spun when he opened his eyes and he heaved again. Vomit dripped down his chin and onto his chest. Hands steadied him, brought much-needed water to his lips, then helped him to his feet. Yurio didn’t dare open his eyes as he was helped off the ice. Soft hands helped him to a bench and deftly untied his skates.

Only then did Yurio feel steady enough to his eyes. He was only mildly surprised to see his mom (sorry) Yuri Katsuki kneeling in front of him. Yurio crossed his arms and looked away from Yuuri, who was still focused on taking Yurio’s skates off his feet.

“Thank you,” he rasped, throat torn up for heaving.

Yuuri looked up, mouth slightly parted. The corners of his lips curved upwards. “That was a great performance! I mean, uh, before the getting sick part, but I’m sure they won’t include that in calculating your score, since you were already done…” Yuuri trailed off as he realized he was rambling. He collected himself, and smiled as he poke again. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Yuri snapped. He glared at Yuuri. “Don’t you dare allow this to affect your performance today!” Yurio spat out with all the venom he could possibly manage while struggling not to retch again just from the taste of vomit still lingering in his mouth. Yuuri smirked softly.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed! and i'm sorry if you didn't, i know it isn't everyone's cup of tea.  
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below if you have a bit of time to type them up!
> 
> if you like my writing, feel free to make requests on my tumblr accounts!  
> my fanfiction sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction](http://casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction.tumblr.com)  
> i also have an oc sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-ocs](http://casper-and-their-sick-ocs.tumblr.com)  
> my main is [@smolsickficwriter](http://smolsickficwriter.tumblr.com)  
> and i have a collab hq!! sickfic account [@vollyball-illnesses](http://vollyball-illnesses.tumblr.com)


	4. Otabek Learns that he Knows Nothing about Taking Care of Sick People; Yuri Suffers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't want to read about vomit, do not read!

“Water, Ota,” Yuri choked out in between pants. He groaned as his stomach muscles clenched up again. He’d spent the better part of the last ten minutes heaving unproductively and, as if he hadn’t felt bad enough to begin with, he felt a million times worse now than when he’d started.

As soon as he’d begun to feel nauseas, he’d explained the situation to Otabek and told him he could go home. He hadn’t really thought that he was going to be sick at that point, but he didn’t want to take any chances that could result in his best friend watching him vomit.

Strangely enough, telling Otabek to leave seemed to have resulted in the exact situation Yuri had been trying to avoid.

“You’re home by yourself?” Otabek had asked after Yuri told him he wasn’t feeling great. Yuri had shrugged and nodded. Otabek had crossed his arms. “Then I’ll take care of you for the time being. At least until Yuuri or Viktor get back.”

Yuri had thought it a kind gesture, and, truthfully, he didn’t want to be sick all alone, so he’d let him stay without much complaint. To be fair, he thought Yuuri and Viktor would be home before he actually felt sick enough to go to the bathroom, but neither of them were answering their phones.

Still, as Otabek brought him the glass of water that Yuri had been forced to ask for, the sick teen had to struggle against the urge to make some sort of wisecrack comment about how if he was going to stay, Otabek could at least do a better job with the care-taking he’d promised. While Yuri attempted to heave his guts up, Otabek just stood in the doorway of the bathroom looking uncomfortable and maybe a little bit sick himself.

Yuri took a sip of the water and tried to remind himself that Otabek was his friend, that it was nice of him to stay, regardless of how helpful he actually was, and that the reality was just that there wasn’t much that he could do to help other than stand watch and make sure Yuri wouldn’t pass out from dehydration.

Yuri shivered and wondered vaguely if he had a fever. He was about to ask Otabek to get the thermometer when another heave forced him back over the toilet. He spat only saliva into the bowl, and when he pulled back, Otabek’s jacket was on his shoulders. Yuri almost laughed, and probably would have if his throat weren’t so raw.

“Uh, thanks, Ota, but I don’t think you’re supposed to make a sick person warmer.”

“But… you were shivering.” Otabek looked confused. Yuri smiled wryly.

“I was shivering from the fever. Look,” he said, gesturing to his damp hair. “I’m sweating, too. Jeez, haven’t you ever been sick?”

For a moment, Otabek looked like he was pondering the question. Then he shook his head. “Not that I can remember, at least,” he said. Yuri shook his head.

“Lucky yo- ulp,” Yuri was cut off with a burp, wet burp followed by a gurgling but still fruitless heave.

“Fuck,” Yuri cursed. He didn’t know if he wanted to vomit or not at this point. It was going to be awful, and he really wished that Viktor and Yuuri were here instead of his friend, but he knew that he’d continue feeling miserable until he let his stomach remove its contents.

A crash from what sounded like the kitchen startled another burp out of him and he placed a hand over his mouth on instinct. Liquid shot up his throat but he swallowed it back down. When he turned back to the doorway of the bathroom, Otabek was gone.

“Ota?” Yuri called out. “You okay?”

“Um,” Otabek said slowly. “I- yeah, I’m fine. I think I was just… attacked by a mob of pots and pans.”

Yuri groaned. The kitchen was a real mess, thanks to Viktor. Even Yuuri had given up on cleaning it.

“What’re you doing in the - hic - kitchen?” Yuri asked with a hiccup and a cough. He took another sip of water.

“Looking for a thermometer. That’s what you use when someone has a fever, right?”

Yuri’s face fell into the blandest look he could manage while suppressing a wave of nausea. “Why in the world would you - hic - think a thermometer would - ulp - be in the kitchen?”

“Because it’s a measure of temperature and there’s a stove in the kitchen?” Otabek returned to the doorway of the bathroom, looking for all the world like a kid trying to guess at the right answer to an oral pop quiz. Yuri put his head in his hands.

“You don’t use- hic - you know what,” Yuri said, shaking his head with a shaking hand to his mouth. “Never mind. The thermometer’s - hic - in the closet in he- hic-uuurgh,” Yuri doubled over as a sharp nausea overtook him.

“Right,” Otabek said, sounding panicked and immediately sticking his head in the bathroom closet, as if finding the thermometer would make everything right. There was a loud clatter as just about everything in the closet tumbled out thanks to Otabek’s frantic carelessness, but Yuri wasn’t paying attention anymore.

Arms trembling, he clenched the toilet seat like it was lifeline. He knew, with sudden certainty, that the next heave would be the beginning of the end. 

Sure enough, one rolling-belch-turned-retch later and the water he’d drunk shot of him, splashing into the toilet. He shuddered at the acidic flavor of the bile that came up with it, but didn’t have time to mull over it because suddenly he was burping again, and now a thick, brownish-green sludge poured from his mouth and nose. He coughed as a few chunks of barely digested food lodged in his throat and were then dislodged by more vomit. 

Yuri gasped, yearning for oxygen. He managed a couple gulps before his stomach flipped and he was puking again, two more big waves, just as forceful, but thinner. They left him sputtering over the toilet, still feeling incredibly nauseas, but too exhausted to force a heave. 

He flushed the toilet but remained hovering over it, trembling fiercely. The seconds ticked by and for the first time since he started throwing up he was aware of the noise coming from the cabinet as Otabek continued his search. After a minute or two had passed, the apartment fell silent as Otabek seemed to still.

“Yuri? Are you-” Otabek looked over just in time to see Yuri’s shoulder’s jolt as pale-brown bile spilled out of his nose and mouth. Otabek was frozen as he watched Yuri cough, and very weakly expel more of the vile, acidic liquid.

Otabek gagged, covering his mouth with his hand, and looked away. There was another short splash and then silence. Then the flush of the toilet. Then:

“Ota?” Yuri’s voice wavered, and Otabek turned around immediately. Yuri put a hand to his raw throat as he spoke again. “I’m done, don’t worry. You okay?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Are you?”

Yuri nodded, blinking slowly.

“Ah!” Otabek shouted, startling Yuri’s eyes wide open. The older boy reached again inside the cabinet, and pulled something out. “I found it!”

Yuri relaxed again as he saw the thermometer in Otabek’s hand. He wanted to laugh. Otabek was funny. He was so proud of having found the thermometer. But Yuri was so tired…

His eyes blinked shut for a moment and then he was falling. He jerked awake, heart beating fast, and was surprised when, instead of hitting the cement floor, his head hit a much softer surface. Otabek.

“You’re tired,” Otabek said, sounding calm except for the slight waver in his tone. “You should’ve said something. You could’ve been hurt.”

Yuri smiled softly. “I’m tired.”

Otabek chuckled. “Then rest, little soldier. You did great.”

When Viktor and Yuri returned about an hour later, they were both on the verge of panicking. They’d been at a movie and didn’t see the missed calls until they got out, and after that they’d raced home, imagining the worst.

They sprinted inside at the same time, but Yuuri looked in the bathroom first. He froze, staring and smiling in the doorway. When Viktor saw him standing there, he rushed over, opening his mouth to ask a million questions, but Yuuri stopped him with by putting a finger to his lips. He gestured towards the bathroom, to the two boys sleeping peacefully on the floor. It was a little bit sad, but both men grinned, thinking the same thing.

Yuri had made a great friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed! and i'm sorry if you didn't, i know it isn't everyone's cup of tea.  
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below if you have a bit of time to type them up!
> 
> if you like my writing, feel free to make requests on my tumblr accounts!  
> my fanfiction sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction](http://casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction.tumblr.com)  
> i also have an oc sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-ocs](http://casper-and-their-sick-ocs.tumblr.com)  
> my main is [@smolsickficwriter](http://smolsickficwriter.tumblr.com)  
> and i have a collab hq!! sickfic account [@vollyball-illnesses](http://vollyball-illnesses.tumblr.com)


	5. Phichit, Homesick in Detroit

“Boy,” Phichit said as he walked with Yuuri to the rink one day. “It’s cold in Detroit! It never get’s this cold back home!”

Yuuri responded to his friend’s comment with a strained smile. Phichit had been talking about home non-stop recently, and it was putting Yuuri a bit on edge. Not because Phichit ever seemed upset, but because he actually never seemed upset. Which didn’t make sense to Yuri who, when he’d gone overseas at the age of 18, had experienced crippling home sickness starting just a few months after he’d arrived in the U.S. Now, just over a year later, he was finally past it. The younger boy, however, having arrived no less than half a year ago, showed no signs of sadness. Yuuri sighed, and wondered if perhaps talking about his home country was Phichit’s way of dealing with missing it.

“Phichit, does it snow in Thailand?”

“Oh, no! Not like it will here!”

Yuri smiled, genuinely looking forward to seeing his friend’s reaction to the white substance. “You’ll love it.”

Phichit grinned back, but soon frowned as a chill ran up his spine and made him shiver. He looked eager as he pushed open the doors to the rink. The two boys walked inside together. They chatted a bit more, but soon fell silent as they started to practice.

It was a rough day for both of them, with a lot of endurance training as well as technique, but Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the way Celestino scolded Phichit far more than normal. When they took a break, Phichit’s face was flushed.

“You okay?” Yuuri asked him as he grabbed some water.

“Hm?” Phichit put his water bottle down and raised an eyebrow. “Sure, why?”

“Oh, you just…” Yuuri struggled to put it into words. “Your cheeks are pink and it seems like you’re struggling more than normal. Not that you’re doing bad!” Yuuri rushed to amend any offenses he may have committed, but Phichit waved him off.

“Nah, you’re right. My cheeks are just red from the exertion, but I really haven’t been at my best today.” Phichit smiled, and Yuuri thought it looked a bit forced, but thought maybe he was just being paranoid. “Don’t worry about me, Yuuri, everyone has bad days, right?”

“Y-Yeah, just- let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, alright?”

Phichit nodded gratefully, gave a thumbs up, and headed back out to the rink. Yuuri followed soon after.

Unfortunately, Phichit’s skating got progressively and almost exponentially worse as the day wore on. Not only that, but Yuuri’s capabilities went down hill as well. Phichit may have been his opponent, but he was also Yuuri’s best friend, and he couldn’t help but be preoccupied and concerned. He’d never seen Phichit falter this badly, and it scared him a little, mainly because somehow, Phichit was still smiling.

Eventually Celestino told them to go home early for the day. Both boys tried to convince their coach that they were fine, but the older man just shook his head and huffed out a laugh as he practically pushed them out the door.

“You two,” he handed them their skates. “Deserve a break. Take it for what it is and enjoy your night off, okay? Maybe it’ll snow and we can call it a snow day,” he said with a wink, just before he closed and locked the doors to the rink. Both boys looked at each other and dissolved into laughter. Phichit’s, however, cut of quickly.

“Phichit, are you-“

“I’m fine, Yuuri. You don’t need to worry about me! Really,” Phichit insisted, walking ahead as the older boy hesitated. Yuuri jogged to catch up, only to freeze suddenly to avoid running into his friend, who had come to a sudden stop.

“Phi-“

Yuuri watched Phichit’s back as the younger boy’s shoulders jerked, hands over his mouth. For a moment, Yuuri wondered if his friend was crying, and his heart skipped a beat at the thought. He had never seen Phichit show any real signs of being upset, and the thought that he might have been containing sadness for all of these months made it hard for him to think clearly. Hesitantly, but too concerned to stop himself, he stepped forward so that he could face the trembling boy.

He wasn’t crying, but he did look more upset than Yuuri had ever seen him. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the broken expression on the his friend’s face.

“Phichit, what’s wrong?” He finally asked, with all of the feeling and sincerity he could convey.

Another handful of seconds passed as Phichit stood, trembling, eyebrows fumbling on his face with conflicting desires to open up and stay closed. Yuuri waited, and waited, and waited, until, at last, Phichit let out a small whimper.

“Yuuri!” Phichit whined, and spread his arms wide for a hug. Yuuri readily returned the gesture and allowed his friend to fall into him, and began rubbing his back soothingly. Phichit shuddered, and whispered after some time, “Yuuri, I - hic - I feel sick.”

Yuuri tensed momentarily; it wasn’t what he’d expected. Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do all he could to help. He took a deep breath and pushed Phichit away, taking in his washed out appearance, and nodded.

“Okay,” he said firmly, one hand gripping Phichit’s shoulder, “first things first, let’s get you home.”

Phichit made a noise of dismay, but nodded.

“Hey,” Yuuri said gently, giving Phichit’s shoulder a squeeze, “if you’d rather, I can call a cab to come pick us up.”

Phichit shook his head. “’t’s not that far. I can - hic! - make it home.”

Yuuri examined the sick boy one more time, and, finding that he didn’t look like he was in danger of passing out, nodded again. He took Phichit’s hand and gave a slight tug. Phichit followed behind, complacent and scarily listless.

“Squeeze my hand if you need to stop, okay?” Yuuri instructed, turning back for a moment after a particularly strong wind assaulted them. He saw Phichit agree with a nod and forged on, trying to ignore the occasional muffled burps and nearly constant hiccups coming from behind him until Phichit gave him a reason to do otherwise.

They were only about a hundred feet from their apartment when Phichit squeezed Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri turned around immediately, just in time to see Phichit swaying on his feet, just in time to catch him before he fell.

“Woah, hey,” Yuuri mumbled, lowering his friend to the ground gently and trying not to panic. “Phichit. We’re so close. Come on.”

“S-So c-cold,” Phichit mumbled, eyes closed. Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief. Phichit hadn’t passed out, his legs had probably just gone numb and become too weak to support the rest of his body. Yuuri took off his own jacket and wrapped it around the sick boy, who, never having had need of one, didn’t even own a winter coat. Then he helped Phichit to his feet, and wrapped an arm around him.

“We’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Feel so - hic! - sick. Don’ wanna - hic! - be sick,” Phichit replied, his trembling worsening as tears pricked his eyes. Yuuri scowled, caught in an internal debate. He eyed their apartment. He could see it from where he was standing. He eyed Phichit, who was short and thin, but packed with muscle. He was also shaking like a leaf and on the verge of a breakdown and looked halfway to death. Yuuri shook his head.

“Hang on,” he mumbled, and scooped Phichit up in his arms. The boy made a small noise of surprise, but didn’t protest.

By the time they reached their apartment, Yuuri was ready to collapse and his fingers were frozen, but they made it. He set Phichit down, jolting him out of a light sleep, and fumbled with the key until the door flung open. He nudged Phichit inside and followed in after.

“Ah,” Yuuri muttered. “The heat feels amazing, huh?” He kicked off his shoes. When he received no response, he looked up. Phichit was standing just past the doorway, looking for all the world lost in his own house. Yuuri sighed.

“Phichit, how about you sit down on the couch for now and I’ll bring you some water and blankets as soon as I can.”

Dazedly, Phichit did as he was told. Yuuri gazed after him with worry momentarily before rushing to gather some supplies. He also called Celestino to explain the situation, and the coach, who’d had his suspicions to begin with, said that he would be over to help out soon. By the time Yuuri got back to the couch, Phichit was curled in a ball, sleeping. Yuuri smiled softly and sat in the chair next to the couch. He’d only just relaxed into it when Phichit jerked awake, one hand on his stomach, and the other on his mouth. Yuuri didn’t waste a second in grabbing the plastic bowl he’d retrieve and pushed it into Phichit’s hands.

“I don’t-“ Phichit cut himself off with a gag, but nothing came up and the bowl tumbled from his hands. “What’s-“ Phichit gagged again, and Yuuri sat beside him to help him stay upright.

“Yuuri? What are you… Thailand? Where am I?” Phichit looked around disconcertedly, and Yuuri put a hand on the boy’s forehead. It was a bit hot, but not hot enough for him to be hallucinating. Phichit rubbed his eyes blearily, and Yuuri frowned.

“We’re in Detroit, Phichit, where did you think you were? This is where we met. We just had practice today-“

Yuuri stopped talking when Phichit let out a strangled sob. He ducked his head into the bowl as tears spilled from his eyes.

“I thought - hic! - I had a dream, that I was back- back in - hic! - Thailand.”

Yuuri rubbed his friend’s back, not knowing what else to do. “Aw, Phichit. You miss home?”

Phichit nodded and then shuddered before gagging, still unproductively. Yuuri worried that he was holding back. He hoped Celestino would arrive soon. In the mean time, he decided to do what he could to distract his friend from his ailment.

“What’s Thailand like?” Yuuri knew from experience that there was little that could be done to help with homesickness, but he’d always appreciated having someone who would listen to him talk about Japan. Judging from the way Phichit’s face relaxed upon hearing the question, his friend felt the same way. Phichit looked at Yuuri for a moment before staring off wistfully into the distance.

“It’s warm. And - hiccurp! - the food is the best. And…” Phichit blinked and turned back to Yuuri with his tears renewed. “And the people - hic! - there are people who love me. They’re warmer there. They’re… home.”

Phichit’s lip quivered as he finished, and Yuuri tried to process this new information. Somehow, he understood. Phichit was, himself, a very warm person. Yuuri was not. The thought that he couldn’t be home for his friend because of that made him sad, but he didn’t know how to be anything else than frigid.

“I just-“ PHichit broke Yuuri’s train of thought with a sob. “I don’t want to be sick - hic! - here, alone, I don’t-“ He doubled over with another unproductive heave and Yuuri’s eyes shot up.

“Wait a second, Phichit,” Yuuri said, brushing the sick boy’s hair out of his face. No, Yuuri did not know how to be warm. But being there for a friend when he was sick so that he didn’t feel like he was all alone? That much he could do. “You’re not alone. Hey. Listen.”

When his stomach settled, Phichit looked at Yuuri.

“I am here. I promise. I don’t know about warmth, but I won’t leave you. And Celestino is on his way here. I know it’s not the same, but just- just give us a chance to become a second home for you, a different one. Please?”

For a moment, Phichit looked like he’s going to start crying again. Then he lurched over the bucket in his lap with a belch, and heaved, finally bringing up a mouthful of vomit. Yuuri flinched unconsciously, but pressed a cold washcloth to Phichit’s neck and told him it’s okay.

The doorbell rang, and Yuuri didn’t move, but opted instead to shout permission for the guest to enter. When Celestino walked in to find his two skaters in such a vulnerable position, he immediately took control of the situation, telling Yuuri to give Phichit some space so that the older skater wouldn’t catch the bug and taking Yuuri’s place himself. Before he got up, Yuuri whispered in Phichit’s ear in a pause between heaves.

“I’m here, I promise. Let me know if you want me, and I’ll be here.”

Phichit nodded minutely, and Yuuri got up, somewhat grateful for the opportunity to get away from the potent smell of vomit. He looked out the window and tried to tune out the disturbing sounds of his best friend puking up his guts, but that was easier said than done when each watery belch, each painful retch, each splash against plastic only brought memories of seeing his best friend being sick. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on Celestino’s steady stream of reassurances. When the last of Phichit’s dry heaves (at least for the moment) tapered off, Yuuri opened his eyes again. He could hardly believe what he saw. He turned around to face his coach and his friend.

“It’s snowing,” he said quietly. Then, louder. “Hey, Phichit, it’s snowing! Huge flakes. It’s…” He trailed off when he saw Phichit looking out the window with wide eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” Phichit said. A smile graced his face, then, for the first time in what felt like days (though it had been only hours), and Yuuri felt as though his entire body sighed in relief. A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up to see his coach at his side.

“Nice job, kid,” Celestino said with a smile.

“Oh, no, I don’t think I was able to do that much! Thank you for coming! Phichit was freaking out before you got here, telling me about how warm the people in his family are, and I just- well, you’re much more warm than I am, and-“

Celestino raised his hand from Yuuri’s shoulder to cut off his mumbling.

“He wasn’t freaking out when I got here,” he said pointedly, raising his eyebrows. “Calming him down- that was all you. I’m just saying, don’t sell yourself short, alright? Who says you don’t have a wealth of warmth hidden inside you? Maybe you just need the right kind of person to show you it matter and to bring it out.”

Yuuri thought about that as he walked his coach out, and glanced a Phichit, who was sound asleep, remnants of a smile on his face. It was how he usually slept. Smiling. Waving goodbye to Celestino, he wondered if the older man had a point.

Phichit mumbled in his sleep, and Yuuri walked over leaning in despite Celestino’s warning.

“Hmrrrmp, snow… snow man, mmm, sled,” Phichit mumbled before rolling over and falling silent. Yuuri grinned.

He hoped, at the very least, that he’d been able to teach Phichit how to appreciate something about the cold. If Phichit could do that much, then maybe Yuuri could meet him half way after all.


	6. Yurio takes care of Otabek, who has the flu

“Sorry, Yuri, I actually don’t think I can make it today.”

When Otabek called to cancel their dinner date last minute with no immediate explanation, Yurio’s first instinct was to mask his disappointment and insecurities with anger. So he hung up without another word and kicked the wall. Twice. Then Viktor came in and interrupted him with a reminder that Yurio would be responsible for any damage he caused their apartment. Yurio looked Viktor in the eyes and kicked the wall again once more for good measure. He was pleased when annoyance flashed briefly across the older man’s face, and markedly less so when Yuuri wedged his way into the doorway with a markedly thoughtful expression on his face.

“Viktor, go finish making dinner, please,” he ordered, speaking softly but in a way that made it clear that his instructions were not up for debate. Viktor didn’t seem to mind, smiling readily and giving Yuuri a peck on the cheek before padding away. Yurio scowled and crossed his arms, but did nothing else to discourage Yuuri from taking a seat on next to Yurio on the younger boy’s bead.

“Yurio, did something happen?” Yuuri asked cautiously. Yurio didn’t respond, but his hand, gripping his phone tightly, twitched. Yuuri’s eyes latched on to the movement and he took Yurio’s clenched hand in both of his own and pried his fingers away from the phone. Yurio turned away as the older man inspected his cell, turning it over, opening it, focusing in on the call history. Yuuri’s expression changed from curious to understanding.

“Otabek called.” Yuuri stated.

“So what,” Yurio grumbled.

“Are you two still going out to dinner?”

Yurio shrugged. Yuuri waited. Yurio shook his head.

Yuuri hummed. “Otabek cancelled, huh? How come?”

Yurio shrugged, and Yuuri smiled.

“You didn’t ask?”

Yurio looked up, frustration lining his face. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re angry, and you’re assuming he doesn’t have a valid explanation for bailing. Yurio, Otabek would never cancel on you without a good reason to do so.”

Again, Yurio’s instinct was to continue to be angry, but Yuuri had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. Yuuri stood and handed the phone back to Yurio before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Yurio called Otabek back, but the call went through to voicemail. He called again, and this time Otabek picked up.

“Yuri?” He sounded sleepy and surprised in equal measure.

“Why did you cancel?” Yurio got straight to the point.

“Oh. I wasn’t feeling well.”

Understanding and relief washed over Yurio, followed by concern, and the realization that Otabek was completely alone. He was in Russia for a month long training camp, but he didn’t know anyone very well besides Yurio and a few of the other skaters in the area. “Are you sick? You live by yourself, right? I’m coming over.”

“You shouldn’t-“

Yurio hung up on him again, but this time it was not out of anger, but urgency. He bundled up in his coat.

“Heading out?” Yurio turned to see Yuuri and Viktor watching him just as he was about to leave.

“Ota’s sick.”

“Bring him this,” Yuuri said, holding out a tupperware. It was warm, and filled with soup. Yuuri smiled when Yurio looked up, surprised. “I had a feeling it was something like that, and we made more than enough of this for dinner, anyway.”

Yurio nodded, and mumbled a thanks, and then stood in the doorway awkwardly.

“Alright,” Viktor interrupted. “Get out of here so we can do… grown up stuff.”

“V-Viktor!” Yuuri chastised. “Yurio, wai- we wouldn’t- not when you-“

“Ugh,” Yurio cut him off and made a face, and then promptly did as Viktor had so kindly advised, taking care not to slam the door too hard to avoid worrying Yuuri any more than necessary.

***

It took Yurio about ten minutes to jog to Otabek’s apartment.

“Ota!” He banged on the door until his friend opened it.

“Yuri?” Upon seeing Yurio, Otabek’s voice wobbled in an unsteady way that was entirely unrepresentative of the boy’s normally unwavering state of being, and Yurio wondered if this was a new development, or if he had just been too oblivious to notice over the phone. Now, seeing Otabek’s fever-confused frown and the way his entire body trembled with the effort of standing, there was no way mistaking it: Otabek was definitely sick.

“Get back in bed,” Yurio demanded, walking inside and gently pushing Otabek down the corridor towards his bedroom.

“Yuri, wait, you shouldn’t be here!” Otabek dug his heels into the ground. Normally the strength difference between him and Yurio allowed him to overpower the smaller boy, but today his efforts were having little effect. He tried to explain his argument with words instead. “It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine on my own! And I don’t want to get you sick-“

“Otabek.” Yurio said, hands on hips, after he had pushed the older boy into his bed. “First of all, it’s not just a cold. You have a fever, if nothing else. More importantly, you probably caught it from taking care of me, which means I owe you one, and there’s practically no chance that I’ll catch it from you. Also, if that experience is anything to go by, leaving you to take care of any sick person, let alone yourself, is a terrible idea.”

Otabek blinked, and his eyelids drooped low. Yurio sighed.

“For now, just take a nap,” he instructed, standing up and walking to the bathroom connected to Otabek’s room.

“Yuri-“

Yurio returned a moment later and silenced Otabek’s protest by laying a cold, wet rag on the sick boy’s warm forehead. Otabek let out an involuntary sigh and his eyes fluttered shut. Yurio smirked as his friend drifted off to sleep. Then he got to work.

By the time Otabek woke up, groggily, about an hour later, there were four bowls of soup (which Yurio had made only after three and a half failed attempts) stored in the fridge, a blue Gatorade (which Yurio knew was Otabek’s favorite drink), a water bottle, and a thermometer (which Yurio had picked up at the store across the street) sitting on Otabek’s nightstand, and an empty plastic bag in his hand for good measure. Otabek’s eyes focused in on the bag immediately.

“What’s that for?” He asked, frowning. Yurio offered Otabek the drinks and nodded his approval when he took a few sips of the water.

“Just in case,” he replied with a shrug. “I looked for a bowl, but you don’t have very many, and you don’t have any small trashcans.”

“In case what?” Otabek’s voice was low and apprehensive.

Yurio gave him an incredulous look. “In case you feel like throwing up, of course.”

Otabek’s eyes widened and he flinched away from Yurio, as if being close to the bag would somehow make it more likely that he would need to use it. Yurio watched in fascination as, in the next moment, Otabek crossed his arms, a determined expression falling across his rapidly paling face.

“I won’t need it.”

Yurio raised his eyebrows. “You can’t be sure of that.”

“I’ve never done tha-“ Otabek’s jaw suddenly clamped shut and his Adam’s apple bobbed desperately up and down as he swallowed convulsively. Yurio’s eyebrow twitched as he attempted to raise it even higher. Otabek made an involuntary noise, gulped, and then finished his sentence. “Never done that before.”

“If you caught the stomach bug from me, and I think you did, then it doesn’t matter,” Yurio shoved the bag towards his friend, but again Otabek moved away from it. Yurio gave him a bland stare as a repressed wet burp sounded from inside Otabek’s mouth.

“I’m fi-“ Otabek started to reassure him, but was cut off by a forceful, heady belch. Panic flickered in his eyes, and Yurio acted quickly, holding the bag up to Otabek’s chest with one hand and helping him into a seated position with the other. Just as the burp tapered off, Otabek’s back arched and a weak stream of bile splashed into the bag.

Otabek shuddered, and made a weak, sick sounding noise of despair that made Yurio’s hand squeeze his shoulder more tightly.

“You’ll be okay, Ota, just relax.”

“No,” Otabek protested, half a sob following the word out of his mouth. “I don’t-“

He was cut of by a jagged heave, but managed to repress any sick from leaving his mouth. Yurio pursed his lips.

“You have to let it out. You’ll feel better afterward, and you can drink the blue Gatorade when you’re done.”

Otabek trembled.

“Ota, please.”

When Otabek’s fear-filled eyes found Yurio’s, the younger boy nodded encouragingly. Then, suddenly, Otabek went very still. The shaking stopped, but was followed by a full-body shudder. Then Otabek leaned forward and buried his head in the plastic bag with a huge retch.

The bag immediately became heavier, and Yurio had to shift so that both hands were holding it as wave after wave of puke jolted it. Every once in a while Otabek would let out a sob before being cut off by another heave, and Yurio’s heart would crack. It was a long while before the retching tapered off, but when it did Yurio was ready, nodding to the Gatorade. To his surprise, Otabek shook his head.

“I don’t feel better,” he whined, a sob catching in his throat. Yurio made a sympathetic noise, and tried not to appear as anxious as he was as he eyed the nearly full plastic bag.

“Do you think you’ll throw up again?”

Otabek hesitated for a moment, but soon nodded, the sob escaping him.

“Hey, don’t cry. We should move to the bathroom though, alright?”

Otabek, seemingly relieved at being given instructions, nodded. After carefully tying off the plastic bag and setting it on the ground, Yurio offered Otabek his arm and the two walked to the bathroom together.

For a few minutes they both sat on the ground, Otabek leaning on Yurio, who was absentmindedly running his hands through the sick boy’s sweaty hair.

“Feel so sick,” Otabek moaned, hiccuping.

“I know.”

“I don’t - hic! - want to- to throw- hic!” Otabek dissolved into tears and Yurio tensed up.

“Hey, stop that,” he hushed. “You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

“Really?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Otabek hiccuped again, and then suddenly sat up. Yurio helped him over the toilet just in time for a huge heave to shake Otabek’s entire body, thin but abundant vomit splashing into the receptacle. Otabek moaned, coughing up more bile, and was then spewing profusely again. He hiccuped, and one more mouthful of stomach acid spilled over his chin, then released a shuddering and exhausted sigh of relief.

“There you go,” Yurio assured him as he leaned back. “Feeling better?”

“Mhm,” Otabek murmured, eyes drifting shut.

“Want your Gatorade?”

Otabek’s eyes shot open, and he nodded tersely. Yurio smiled, handing him the bottle. “Drink it slowly.”

Otabek took a few small sips, and then handed it back to Yurio.

“‘m tired.”

“Then sleep. You were so brave. I’m proud of you.”

Otabek smiled, and drifted off.


	7. Victor gets the stomach flu, and Yuuri takes care of him

He’d been around his fiancé for long enough now that Yuuri was at the point where he rarely reacted when Victor whined for his attention. And yet, something in Victor’s voice, maybe its abnormally raspy quality, or undertone it held of confusion and genuine discomfort, had Yuuri whipping his head around immediately.

He was glad he did when he saw Victor standing in the doorway, attempting and undeniably failing to pull a sweater over his head.

“Victor,” Yuuri said gently, walking over to the older man and trying to pull the sweatshirt away. He sighed and released it when Victor made a weak noise of protest, grasping feebly and desperately at the material. “Victor, that’s my sweatshirt. I don’t mind if you want to hold onto it, but… it won’t fit you. It’s small on me.”

Victor let out a despairing whine.

“Vitya, come on. Let me see your face,” Yuuri urged, laying a hand on Victor’s shoulder and taking silent note of the heat that seemed to encompass his fiancé’s entire body. Yuuri recalled the nasty stomach flu Yurio had caught a week or so ago and wondered if he should be concerned. Then he realized it was a stupid thing to wonder: he was already irrevocably worried.

“I don’t want you to see my face,” Victor’s voice was muffled by the sweatshirt, but Yuuri could hear how rough it was anyway. “It’s gross, and my hair is a mess.”

“Hey,” Yuuri brushed his hand gently over the sweatshirt where it outlined Victor’s head. Victor tensed when Yuuri moved again to lift it, and the younger man relented immediately, instead moving to massage the older man’s back. “I just want to know that you’re okay. And to get you a sweatshirt that fits you.”

Finally, Victor softened, releasing his grip on the cloth covering his head and nodding, allowing Yuuri to remove it. As soon as he did so, Yuuri’s heart threatened to break. Victor was pale, even paler than normal, and his cheeks were flushed a harsh red. A strange, pinched expression formed on the older man’s face, and his hand drifted to his stomach seemingly without his own notice. Yuuri felt a sudden certainty about what his next action should be, and it wasn't getting Victor a new sweatshirt.

Taking the limp hand at Victor’s side, Yuuri led the groggy, disoriented man to the bathroom. It was only when he saw the toilet that Victor seemed to actually process where they were, face somehow paling even further. His throat worked convulsively and a shudder ran through him.

“Sit down,” Yuuri urged as Victor’s knees started shaking, then knelt down with him. It was clear that Victor was feeling absolutely miserable by his lack of attempt at conversation, not to mention the pained expression on his face. Yuuri wished he could help more, but now that he knew and was prepared for what was inevitably going to happen, all he could really do was offer reassurances. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Yuuri,” Victor’s voice shook. “I’m not sick. I’m not going to- huurk!” Victor doubled over with a gag. He attempted to recover his breath and his sentence after a few pants, but it was a losing battle. 

Soon Victor was hunched over the toilet, vomit pouring out of him, his entire body wracked by one heave after another. He attempted to repress every retch, but to no avail. He only ended up making the experience more painful, forcing drawn out and hollow retches to echo off the toilet bowl before he was forced into a sputtering, choked struggle for breath when the puke forced its way out. It wasn’t long before Victor was too drained to fight it anymore, but to Yuuri it felt like forever.

Still, it was almost a relief when the tension drained from Victor’s body of its own accord. From there he continued to be sick in long, watery streams. Victor trembled and whimpered, and at some point tears began to streak his face, but Yuuri was glad he was letting it out, because it would help him feel better.

Sure enough, after three or four false finishes, Victor shuddered, spit out a final mouthful of bile, flushed the toilet, and leaned back on Yuuri, eyes drooping shut and breathing evening out. It wasn’t long before he was asleep. Yuuri pressed a kiss to Victor’s head, and let him get some well-deserved rest.


	8. Injured Yurio gets sick on Yuuri

Yurio could hardly breathe by the time he finished his routine. It had gone well, and he felt great, except that, in a physical sense, he felt terrible. His stomach was churning and his head was throbbing and his ankle hurt and if he had to guess, he’d say that this was what dying felt like.

Still, he knew he needed to get off the ice, so he pushed himself up off of his hands and knees and skated shakily to the exit of the rink. He stumbled off, his head spinning, quickly stepping out of his shoes and brushing past his coach roughly on his way to the locker room. It was quiet and he breathed a shaky sigh of relief, thinking he was alone. He lurched forward, looking desperately for a restroom, hand on his stomach.

“Yurio?” A soft voice made Yurio flinch and back up unsteadily, until he hit the lockers. Yuuri had already seen him, though, so the effort to run was in vain. Yuuri approached him with a smile. “You did great, you know, that was- woah, hey, are you okay?”

Yuuri placed a hand on Yurio’s shoulder when the younger boy doubled over as a particularly strong wave of nausea crashed into him.

“I’m-“ Yurio was prepared to insist that he was fine, but speaking turned out to be a mistake. Before he could even straighten up, he was leaning forward again, this time with a heave. He wasn’t prepared for the vile substance that came up with it, and suddenly Yurio found himself spewing stomach acid. It splattered onto Yuuri, who still hadn’t let go of Yurio’s shoulder.

“Oh! Oh,” Yuuri flinched, and Yurio backed away almost apologetically. Yuuri, however, stepped closer, pulling Yurio’s hair out of his face and rubbing his back. “Wow, you really outdid yourself, huh?”

Yurio coughed and spat some residual stomach acid onto the floor. His ankle throbbed, hurting more and more by the second as the adrenaline wore off, and it was all he could do to suppress the nausea. He hadn’t had a chance to calm his stomach enough to say sorry or thank you when Viktor rushed in to the locker room.

“Yuuri! What’s taking you so long, you should be warming u- oh!” Viktor froze as he took in the scene before him, Yurio trembling, sick around his mouth, still leaning forward slightly, and Yuuri with vomit on his costume. Then he was snapping into action.

He strutted over and grabbed Yuuri by the wrist, turning him this way and that to inspect the damages, and muttering to himself over what could be done before Yuuri needed to be on the ice in just minutes. In only seconds he seemed to reach a decision on the matter, still frowning, but now confident. He nodded.

“Alright, Yuuri, we’ll figure something out, it will be okay. Just come with me-“

He started leading Yuuri away, but the skater pulled away. “Wait! What about Yurio? He’s sick.”

Viktor stared at the teen appraisingly for a moment, eyes inspecting every inch of his body closely. Yurio glared when Viktor’s eyes sparked in recognition as they fell on his ankle. Maybe it was the swelling that was just barely visible beneath his outfit, maybe it was the way he stood, maybe it was the expression on his face; Yurio didn’t know exactly how, but Viktor undoubtedly knew that Yurio’s ankle was hurt.

A passive look passed over the older man’s face when Yurio shook his head slightly in an effort to beg his silence, but Yurio couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He gritted his teeth and looked away.

“I’ll tell Yakov to come check on him,” Viktor assured Yuuri, and then they were both gone, surely to clean Yuuri up before he had to skate.

Yurio felt awful. In the sense that he still felt sick, but he also felt terrible about having caused Yuuri so much stress and concern before his skate. He knew it would mess with Yuuri’s head, and possibly cause him to mess up, and as much as Yurio wanted to win, that just wasn’t fair.

He had to prove to Yuuri that he was okay. He had to go watch. That way Yuuri would see that he was fine. He was fine. He had to be. He couldn’t really be injured. But if Yakov found him, he might disagree, even if Viktor hadn’t ratted on him.

He pushed himself away from the lockers and bit his lip to keep from yelling out as pain shot through his ankle, sharper than ever before. Still, he forged on. He had to get out of the locker room before Yakov got there. Yurio limped away, leaning on walls for support when he could, until he made it back to the side of the rink. Just in time, just as Yuuri took to the ice, wearing a still damp but clean costume.

The music started, and Yuuri started moving, and so did the ground in front of Yurio. At least, it seemed to. He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes as a queasy burp escaped him. He put a hand to his mouth, but another belch rolled out of him, and he felt hot acid rise in his throat. Yurio was determined not to be sick again. He needed to stick it out through Yuuri’s performance. Then he could sit down. Then he could rest.

He opened his eyes and the world shifted nauseatingly and Yurio groaned out loud, blinking tears of pain and frustration away. Yuuri wasn’t even halfway done yet, and Yurio could barely stay standing.

“Yuri,” a voice broke through his thoughts, “Are you okay?” It was Otabek. Yurio wondered what he should say. He didn’t want his friend to see him this way, but he also didn’t think he could convince him to leave just by waving off his concern. A sudden increase in nausea made the decision for him.

Yurio’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. A moment later, Otabek’s hands were on his shoulder’s steadying him.

“What’s wrong?”

Yurio couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he brought a hand to his mouth and shook his head. Apparently, that was all the explanation Otabek needed. Soon he was guiding the sick boy to a trashcan. As soon as he felt the metal digging into his palms, Yurio was leaning over with a heave. Sick spilled over his lips and he moaned, finally giving in and leaning more heavily on his uninjured ankle. Otabek rubbed his back and helped hold him up as Yurio shuddered, dissolving into dry heaves and wet sobs that continued even when his stomach was well-past empty.

“Yurio!” The third voice to yell his name was the gruffest yet. “Thank you, Otabek, but I can take it from here.”

For a moment Otabek stayed put, but then he seemed to realize that Yakov could handle the situation and relented, moving a few feet away to keep an eye on his friend.

“Come on, brat, sit down,” Yakov said roughly, but guided Yurio to the ground gently. “Viktor told me you hurt your ankle - let me see it now, come on - and yet when I looked for you in the locker room you were gone!” Yakov sucked in a breath at the sight of Yurio’s ankle. “What were you thinking, walking around like this? It’s swollen like a balloon-“

“Yakov,” Yurio’s voice wavered. “It- It hurts. I just wanted to k- keep skating.”

Yakov softened immediately, and he hugged Yurio to his chest. “I know you did. But now it’s time for a break, yeah?”

Yurio let out a harsh sob and clutched at Yakov. The idea of doing nothing hurt as much as it did to stand on his injured ankle, but he was tired. He nodded, and tried, finally, to accept what he knew was inevitable.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed! and i'm sorry if you didn't, i know it isn't everyone's cup of tea.  
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below if you have a bit of time to type them up!
> 
> if you enjoy my writing, feel free to check out my tumblr accounts, where you can send me requests:  
> my fanfiction sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction](http://casper-and-their-sick-fanfiction.tumblr.com)  
> i also have an oc sickfic tumblr account [@casper-and-their-sick-ocs](http://casper-and-their-sick-ocs.tumblr.com)  
> my main is [@smolsickficwriter](http://smolsickficwriter.tumblr.com)  
> and i have a collab hq!! sickfic account [@vollyball-illnesses](http://vollyball-illnesses.tumblr.com)


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